Chapter Eight

EIGHT

Two days later—a Friday morning just after ten—Arthur sat in his office, towers of books leaning precariously around him. Before him, paperwork, everything Jason and Byron had on David, though it didn’t amount to much: his schooling records (not too far behind where they were on Marsyas, thankfully), and a couple of notes about how inquisitive he was, after he got over his initial reticence. To be fair, Arthur hadn’t expected more, given that David had been moved in secrecy.

But it was the old newspaper clipping that captured Arthur’s attention. Near the back, attached to a picture of David—blurry, the boy looking frightened—the article was short and without much detail. Three big-game hunters were facing charges after stalking a family of magical creatures for days through a frozen tundra. Given that it was illegal to hunt beings capable of “humanlike thought”—so named in the We Care Law (passed two decades before in a close vote)—the hunters were facing a prison term of up to three years, and fines totaling a thousand pounds. Their crime?

They had killed two adult yetis.

Arthur closed the file, tapping his fingers against the folder.

“Is that about me?” David asked a few minutes later, arriving in Arthur’s office right on time. He slumped into the chair on the other side of the desk, arms folded across his chest, his thick hair sleeker than usual. Talia had given him some of her beard soaps as she was of the mind that everyone with body hair should have only the very best.

“It is,” Arthur said. “It’s one of the reasons I invited you here today. I could make assumptions based upon what I’ve read, but in my experience, files such as this don’t always paint a full picture. I’d rather hear it directly from the source.”

“Me,” David said, sounding as if he’d rather be anywhere but where he was.

“Precisely,” Arthur said, sitting back in his chair. “Yesterday was your first full day here. How did it go?”

David shrugged.

Arthur wasn’t to be deterred. “The children took you on a tour of the house. Did you see anything you have questions about?”

David shook his head.

“Good,” Arthur said. “Should anything arise, ask.”

David sank lower in his seat, to the point where only his head lay against the back of the chair, resting at a sharp angle. Not a puddle, but it could easily go that direction.

“Up, please,” Arthur said, wanting to test him just a little. “Posture is important. We do not slump in chairs.”

David muttered under his breath as he pushed himself back up, glaring at Arthur. Once he was using the chair for its intended purpose, he said, “No one cares about how I sit in a chair.”

“I do,” Arthur said. “Thank you. Now, about—”

“I’m not stupid, you know.”

Arthur tilted his head in acknowledgment. “The thought has never crossed my mind.”

David eyed the papers on Arthur’s desk with disdain. “Whatever it says in there, it’s not my fault. I tried to do school stuff, but…” A fierce glower. “Whatever.”

Ah, Arthur thought. “You are a bit behind where we currently are. But, ” he said as David opened his mouth, “that’s to be expected. You have been in upheaval for so long now, of course it would be difficult to keep up with your schooling.”

“B helped,” David mumbled. “They were good at it.”

“I can tell,” Arthur said. “Byron included some wonderful notes about your work with them. They wrote how intelligent you are, but that you can sometimes get overwhelmed if given too many tasks. Is that a fair assessment?”

David shrugged again.

Arthur changed tack. “Tomorrow is Saturday. Have the other children told you what happens on Saturdays? It proved to be so popular we decided to make it a weekly thing, unless something else comes up.”

David perked up at that before adopting a scowl. “Maybe.”

“Wonderful. It’s something I look forward to, especially when I’m kept in the dark about what the day will entail. I find that the surprise is almost as good as the adventure itself. Speaking of.” Knowing David was watching his every move, Arthur made a show of opening a drawer and pulling out a small desk calendar, showing the months of June and July. “I make it a point to keep track of our days. I’ve learned that having a set schedule helps keep expectations clear. I’m sure you’ve seen a similar calendar in the kitchen?”

“I guess.”

“Good,” Arthur said. “It’s there for you to look at, so you know what to expect for each week and where you need to be. We’re currently on a short break from our studies, but we’ll resume next week. In addition, this schedule also shows what chores you will be responsible for during that week.”

“Chores?” David moaned. “Is that why you have so many kids? Free child labor?”

“That’s certainly one way of looking at it,” Arthur said. “Though I prefer to think of it as everyone contributing to our continued success. You won’t be assigned chores during your first week here, but we’ll see about adding you next week.”

“Yay,” he muttered. “All for me? Gee, you shouldn’t have.”

Arthur chuckled. “Not a fan of rules, I see. That’s to be expected. Going someplace new can be taxing, given that you need to learn about the home, the people, the ins and outs. It can take time to get used to how things are done. No one is expecting per fection from you, David. Not only is that unfair to you, it might set a level of expectation that’s impossible to achieve.” He smiled. “Why don’t we start with a question. What do you want to be when you grow up?”

“A monster,” David said promptly.

“Fascinating,” Arthur said. “I’d like to hear more about that, if you’re comfortable with sharing.”

David stared at him in disbelief. “Why aren’t you scared or mad?”

“Because I have no reason to be, at least not currently. I’ll let you know should that change. Continue, if you please.”

David hesitated, eyeing him warily. “Everyone thinks monsters are bad and made of nightmares and stuff like that. They say they’re scared of us, and that they don’t like to be scared. But then they pay, like, so much money to go to films with monsters or haunted houses where things scream and jump out at them. They get scared on purpose . Why would they do that?”

“An extraordinary conundrum,” Arthur agreed.

“ I think it’s because people like to be scared,” David said. “The same way they like to be happy. So long as you don’t hurt anyone, or eat them, why can’t you scare them?”

“A fair question,” Arthur said. “I suppose it depends upon intent and consent. Are you scaring them for them, or are you doing it for yourself?”

“Both,” David said. “And if they already think I’m a monster, why shouldn’t I show them how monstrous I can be? Give them what they really want.” His eyes gleamed as he rubbed his hands together.

“You don’t have to be that way,” Arthur said. “Not if you don’t want to. What some people consider a monster isn’t what others—”

David shot up in his chair, a fierce glower settling on his face. He gripped the arms of the chair, claws dimpling the leather. “I knew it! You’re just like everyone else. Trying to change me into something I don’t want to be. What’s wrong with wanting to be a monster? It’s what we are.”

He was right, of course. Even though it was contrary to what Arthur had taught the other children, David was right, in his own way. At the very least, he was speaking his truth, and would it really be in his best interest to try to take that away from him? But if Arthur didn’t, how would that affect the other children?

“There’s nothing wrong with doing what you like,” Arthur said carefully. “So long as it doesn’t bring harm to others.” He paused, considering. “The word ‘monster’ has many connotations. But it seems to me as if you have decided upon an interesting definition on your own. Here’s a thought. What if we worked together to figure out what is required to be a monster, as you see it?”

David relaxed slightly, though his distrust was still evident. “What do you mean?”

Arthur looked through the pages before him, finding David’s schooling records. “In my experience, fear can come from many places, not just things that go bump in the night. Take, for example, an accountant. What do you think their biggest fear is? Give me your best shot at tailoring an experience that would frighten someone in such a position.”

David eyed him suspiciously. “This isn’t, like, a test? You’re not going to get mad no matter what I say?”

Arthur chuckled. “You have my word.”

David stared at him for a long moment before nodding. He tilted his head back toward the ceiling. “Um… I guess that—no, wait. That won’t work. I got it! Instead of a spreadsheet, I give them a box of disorganized receipts and tell them they have four hours to make sense of it or I’ll roar so loud, the office shakes!”

Once again, the mind of a child knocked Arthur flat. How could anyone think they were capable of harm? “Wonderful,” Arthur said. “I appreciate how descriptive that was. Might I offer an alternative?”

David frowned. “Does it involve scaring him?”

“It does!” Arthur said. “Instead of roaring, what if you became so good at maths that you were able to scare the accountant by doing all the calculations on your own, thus rendering his skill set obsolete? Nothing screams fear like the dread of becoming redundant.”

David gaped at him.

“But then, of course, you will need to growl at him to prove your point.”

“I can do that!”

Of course he could. In the few days Arthur had known him, he could see David wanted to try, wanted to succeed. But it would take time. Nothing was more important than David feeling comfortable. “You can?” Arthur asked. “Wonderful. I’ve always believed that the more we know, the better we can understand the wider world around us. It’s why we take your schooling very seriously. The more we can prepare you, the better off you’ll be. It’ll help you learn all sorts of things, up to and including better ways to scare people.”

“Whoa,” David said. “I never thought about school like that. I guess that wouldn’t be so bad.” His brow furrowed. “Hold on a second. Did you… did you just trick me into wanting to go to school?”

“I did,” Arthur said. “And funnily enough, I don’t feel badly about it in the slightest.”

“I’m on to you,” David said, pointing a blunt finger at him. “I see right through you.”

“Delightful,” Arthur said. “Given that transparency is paramount, I prefer not to be opaque. And now, I must apologize.”

“For what?”

“For not listening as well as I should have. This is the second time you’ve said you wanted to be a monster, and instead of listening to what you were saying, I told you that you didn’t have to be something you obviously like. That was unfair of me, and I apologize without reservation.”

David blinked. “Oh. That’s… okay?”

Arthur shook his head. “It’s not. I should have heard you better than I did. So there is no misunderstanding, I shall say this: here, David, in this place, you can be whoever you want to be. A monster? I will do my best to make sure you have everything you require to see it through. What if you find yourself enamored with cheese and wish to become a fromager ? I will make that happen. An actor? I don’t know how much more I could teach you as you’ve already proven adept at staging plays on your own, but I will attend every performance, and I will be the first to rise in what I imagine will be a thunderous standing ovation.”

“Why?” David asked, wiping his nose as he sniffled, little ice crystals forming at the corners of his eyes. “Why would you do that?”

Arthur leaned forward over his desk. “Because you deserve it, David. That being said, I need your help.”

“You do?” David asked. “What can I do?”

“Ah, I’m so glad you asked,” Arthur said. “Why don’t we start with something simple? We will meet three times a week: Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. On Fridays, like today, I will give you a special mission, one that you can take the weekend to perform. Is that something you might be capable of?”

“A mission?” David asked eagerly, sitting up in his chair. “Like I’m a spy?”

“Exactly like a spy,” Arthur said, “if a spy’s job is to find out one interesting thing about each of the people in the house. A talent they have, or something they said that you find appealing. Then, next week, you can share with me what you learned.”

David nodded. “Got it. You want me to spy on everyone. Find out their secrets, report back so you can use what I learned against them. Diabolical.”

“That’s not quite what I meant, though I do love where your mind goes. No, this isn’t about finding out secrets, but learning about the people you live with. There is a difference, David, much like there is a difference between right and wrong. But I think you know that, given that even though you want to be a monster, you understand that scaring people isn’t the same as hurting them.”

“So… just, like… talk to them?”

Arthur beamed. “Exactly. And while the prospect might be scary in and of itself, I think someone as strong and fearsome as a yeti should have no problem seeing it through. What do you think?”

“I can do it,” David said, sounding resolute.

“I know you can,” Arthur said. “Now, since tomorrow is Saturday, I will give you a brief yet comprehensive outline of adventures past, so that you may have a better grasp on what potentially life-altering and/or life-threatening event you will be participating in. But worry not! We haven’t yet lost a single child, so I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

Saturday adventures were a tried-and-true staple of Marsyas Island, something Arthur had decided to include almost from the very beginning. Initially, it’d been monthly until the children asked if they could do it more often. Arthur and Linus agreed, so once a week, each child took turns planning what that day’s adventure would be. Sometimes, there were dangerous expeditions into uncharted territory where anything from cannibals to gigantic snakes awaited (much to Linus’s dismay). Other times, they took trips into the village. Just last month, they’d spent the day touring residents’ gardens at Talia’s request. It had gone extremely well.

(Mostly. Toward the end, she’d discovered a flower bed soaked in chemicals, and had asked for permission to knock on the door so she and the homeowner could, in her words, “have a little talk.”)

On a sunny morning in June—thin, wispy clouds stretching from one end of the sky to the other—the responsibility for this particular Saturday adventure fell onto the squishy shoulders of the boy known as Chauncey.

Chauncey, who made his appearance that morning descending the stairs wearing a rather large straw sun hat. The brim was at least a foot in diameter with two holes cut near the top for his eye stalks and was adorned with a massive fake flower with a yellow center and white velvet petals. Over his eyes, a pair of cat-eye sunglasses sat askew, the frames adorned with glittering plastic crystals. He practically floated down the stairs, and when he spoke, his voice took on a posh accent. “ Dahhhlings, ” he breathed. “You are all looking divine . Perfect day for yachting, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I would like to lodge a complaint,” Linus said, grimacing as he pulled at the form-fitting wetsuit Chauncey had all but demanded they wear for his day. With Zoe’s help, Chauncey had gotten a wetsuit for each of them.

Linus’s wetsuit was yellow, almost too bright to look at. Lucy’s was red, Talia’s brown like the soil she loved so much. Phee’s was forest green, Sal’s white with polka dots that, if seen from a distance, could have been mistaken for buttons, which explained why Theodore (sans his own wetsuit, saying that he’d prefer to be nude) kept trying to peck at them.

David, too, had a wetsuit—blue, like ice—a rush order that Zoe had put through to make sure he wasn’t left out. While it fit, his suit was a little bulky, given his thick strands of hair. But he didn’t seem to mind, bouncing on his toes in excitement.

Arthur’s own wetsuit was gold in color, and it came complete with a pair of snorkeling goggles that Chauncey insisted they would all need. It was tight-fitting and left little to the imagination, but then Arthur had long accepted that he was knobby in ways that could not be fixed.

Chauncey lowered his sunglasses, revealing his eyes as he looked Linus up and down. “You silly man,” he said. “You look brilliant. A vision . Yes, that’s what you are. Like the sun. The nice, round sun that—”

“Not helping,” Linus muttered.

“To the yacht!” Chauncey cried, arms flailing.

“We don’t have a yacht,” Lucy said. “I would know if we did. I would have crashed it by now.”

“We get to crash boats ?” David asked, impressed. “No one told me that we get to do property damage.”

“That’s because we don’t ,” Linus said.

“We do,” Talia told David. “But only if we pay for it after. And apologize. And promise never to do it again. You can get away with anything once, sometimes twice if you try hard enough.”

“ Talia, ” Linus said sternly.

She turned toward him, her eyes unnaturally large. “I’m sorry, Linus. I promise I’ll never do anything like that again. You’ve taught me the error of my ways.”

Linus blinked. “Oh, well. Thank you. I’m pleased to hear that—”

“And that’s how you get away with it,” she told David. “It’s quite easy if you can make your eyes big enough.”

“Daahhlings,” Chauncey said, bringing the attention back to him. “Shall we embark on the adventure of a lifetime? What surprises wait in store? Romance and love? A mystery where someone’s priceless hula-hoop is stolen and requires the brain of a green person who is a detective and a bellhop and happens to own a watercraft? Anything can happen on Chauncey’s Yacht of Dreams!”

“Chauncey,” Linus said pleasantly. “It appears that we need to work on your vocabulary lessons. Yachts are defined as sailing or power craft used for cruising, racing, and/or pleasure.”

Chauncey lowered his sunglasses slightly, only the tops of his eyes visible. “My good man, that’s where you’re wrong . Everyone knows there is no true definition of a yacht, only that a yacht must have a cabin for overnight stays. And would you look at that! There’s a cabin.”

There was, though Arthur thought it might not be large enough to accommodate them all, seeing as how it was an old cardboard box barely bigger than Chauncey, placed near the front of the vessel. Inside the box, a sleeping bag, an old pillow, and what appeared to be a pile of seaweed, something that Chauncey considered to be a delicacy.

Which was to say nothing of the rest of the yacht. The reason being, of course, that it wasn’t a yacht at all, but a rowboat. And not just any rowboat, no: while large enough to fit them all (even with the “cabin”), the vessel looked as if it belonged on a trash heap rather than on the water. Paint chipped, metal rusted. Small wooden benches. A wooden pole placed in the middle with a thin, limp bedsheet for a sail. Two oars—one of which was broken, the handle mostly gone and leaving only the paddle itself—and orange life jackets for each of them. Next to the box at the front, a cooler and a large palm frond resting against the lip of a bench. The rowboat had been pulled up halfway out of the water, waves lapping gently at its sides.

Like all good water vessels, the rowboat had a name, painted in dripping letters on the side: SEAS THE DAY .

“Isn’t she gorgeous?” Chauncey asked, pushing his way through them and moving to either side of the rowboat as if inspecting it. “Got her for a steal from a billionaire who only used her a few times a year.”

“Whatever you paid, it was too much,” Phee said.

Chauncey ignored her. “Since it’s my day to pick the adventure, I get to be in charge. Lucy and Talia, you’ll fan me with the palm frond and feed me grapes out of the cooler while paying me compliments.”

Lucy shook his head. “I want to be captain.”

Talia’s hand shot in the air, fingers wiggling.

“Yes, Talia?” Chauncey asked.

“I would also like to be captain.”

This, of course, led to each of the children (sans David) extolling their own qualifications for being the captain of the yacht. It devolved into a shouting match where Talia threatened to send Lucy a bouquet of poisonous flowers, and Lucy responded by yelling that he would love that so much and that he double-dog dared her to.

Chauncey, on the other hand, had a different idea. “It’s my day, so I get to decide! Lucy and Talia, fanning and grapes. Phee and Sal are the first mates and the strongest, so that means they get to paddle. Theodore is our figurehead, as all good ships have one. Also, his sense of direction will keep us from getting lost at sea, which is great because if we do, we’d have to draw straws to see who we’d eat to avoid starvation. No pressure.”

“But then who’s going to be captain?” Lucy asked with a pout. “Linus? He told me he hates being the captain of anything, so you should just let me do it.”

“Fibber,” Linus muttered under his breath.

“It’s going to be the one person who didn’t demand it,” Chauncey announced. “David.”

David looked around wildly. “Are you talking to me ?”

“Yes!” Chauncey said. “You have the most important job of all. You’re going to be captain, which means you’re in charge of the yacht. Nothing happens on the ship without your say-so.”

“But—I—there’s…” David slumped inward on himself, shoulders hunched. “Someone else would probably be better.” He kicked at the sand, leaving a shallow divot. “I’ve never been a captain before.”

“See?” Lucy said. “That’s why it should be me. Besides, what if there’s a lava monster rising from a secret cavern on the ocean floor? He won’t even know what to do!” Then, perhaps for reasons only known to a seven-year-old boy with a demon in his soul, he raised his hands above his head and shrieked wordlessly at the ocean.

“Lava monster?” David asked in hushed reverence. “There’s a lava monster ?”

“Maybe,” Talia said, jumping up the side of the rowboat, hanging off the edge, her little legs kicking as she climbed inside. She immediately began to root around in the cooler. “Eighty percent of the ocean is unexplored, so who knows what’s out there waiting to eat us?”

“We’re snack size,” Lucy said. “Like a little bag of chips.” He brightened. “ Cronch, cronch, cronch .”

“What’s this?” Talia asked, lifting an object above her head as she slid off the side of the boat. In her hand, she held a cap: white with a black brim under gold tassels. On the front of the cap, gold yarn in the shape of an anchor.

“That’s the official captain’s cap,” Chauncey said. “When someone wears it, we have to do whatever they say.”

Lucy nodded. “Because the hat has magic, and whoever wears it can control anyone they wish. Nice.”

Chauncey said. “What? It’s just a—”

“That’s exactly right, Lucy,” Arthur said.

Lucy blinked. “It… is?”

“May I?” Arthur asked Chauncey before plucking the hat from him. He turned and moved toward David, who looked either as if he were extremely excited, or wanted to run in the opposite direction. “David, Chauncey has bestowed upon you a gift. Leaders are often called upon in times of great need. And we have need of you . Will you answer the call?” He held out the cap.

David looked at it, then at Arthur, then back to the cap. With a trembling hand, he reached out and touched the brim. Knowing David was still feeling things out, Arthur didn’t push, letting him making up his own mind.

He was delighted when David took the cap, turned it over in his hands, huffed out a breath, and then lowered it onto his head. It was a little big, sinking on his head until it covered his eyes. Arthur put two fingers under the brim, pushing it back up.

“A fine captain,” Arthur said. He snapped to attention, back straight, legs stiff. Making sure David was watching, he offered a snappy salute. “Sir, if I may provide a suggestion. Why don’t you give it a go? See how being the captain feels.”

“Tell me to do something!” Lucy demanded. “I want to see if it’s really magic.” Then, under his breath, “Even though I wanted to be the one to wear it.”

“Um,” David said. “Do… a… cartwheel?”

Lucy groaned. “Boring. Fine. Watch.” He ran across the sand at high speed and raised his hands above his head. As neat as you please, Lucy bent forward quickly, hands in the sand, legs kicking up and over his head. However, instead of using the momentum to push himself off the ground, he decided to use his face, and flopped over, spitting out mouthfuls of sand.

“It works!” he cried. “That hat is magic!”

“What a special boy he is,” Talia said.

They climbed into the rowboat, Linus going first to help the other children up and in. Once they had all boarded the yacht (save for Arthur), Chauncey sat down in his cabin, the stalks on top of his head bent to keep his eyes from rubbing against cardboard. “It’s terribly warm,” he said, affecting the posh accent from earlier. “Lucy! Talia! I need to be fanned and fed grapes. Wot, wot! Hip hop!”

“I am going to feed him so many grapes they come out his butt,” Talia muttered as she wobbled her way over to the box.

Arthur went to the back of the boat. “Ready?” he asked, as Linus helped the children with their life jackets, including attaching a pink floatie around Theodore’s neck—at his request—to keep him from sinking should he end up in the water. He could swim quite well, but for some reason, he loved the floatie.

“Ready!” Chauncey called. “Launch the yacht!”

Arthur pushed as hard as he could, feet sinking into the sand, teeth gritting together. The rowboat moved an inch, then two, then it was carving through the water, the sail billowing out as the wind pushed against it. Arthur managed to climb on board (with Linus’s help) before the vessel left him behind. He settled on a bench, watching as Lucy fanned Chauncey with the palm frond, Talia throwing grapes at his face that Chauncey missed more than he caught. Beyond them, Theodore sat perched at the front of the vessel, head darting side to side, floatie squeaking every time he moved. Sal and Phee paddled (Phee using the broken oar), but it was the wind that propelled them forward, the blanket sail pulled taut.

“Captain David,” Linus said, and David gulped, standing in the middle of the rowboat, swaying side to side. “We are at sea. The ship is yours.”

David nodded, looking around the boat, a sea breeze ruffling his hair. He squared his shoulders, puffed out his hairy chest. His gaze was cool, calculating. When he spoke, it was with authority. “Sal, keep watch on the port side. Phee, you’ve got starboard. I heard these are dangerous waters, and we need to be careful.”

“On it, Captain,” Phee said, paddling furiously. She didn’t provide them with much momentum, but not for lack of trying.

“You got it, Cap,” Sal said, the muscles in his arms straining with each stroke.

This appeared to give David more confidence. “Theodore!” he called. “Keep an eye out for enemy ships or icebergs or lava monsters. If you see anything, let me know.”

Bobbing his head, Theodore chirped his affirmative.

David crawled over one of the bench seats toward Chauncey in his cabin. Talia was peeling grapes with her teeth before tossing naked fruit at Chauncey. Not to be outdone, Lucy swung the palm frond as hard as he could, slapping Chauncey in the face with it.

“Sir,” David said, hunkering over to look inside the box. “The trip is underway. Any particular destination in mind?”

“You’re a dear,” Chauncey simpered, pulling his sunglasses off his eyes and letting them rest on the brim of his sun hat. “Ever since Eduardo left me for a sea cucumber named Leslie, all I’ve known is this yacht and the call of the open sea.”

“I’m sorry for your troubles,” David said, patting the top of the box. “I’ll make sure today is the first day of the rest of your life.”

“Thank you, Captain David,” Chauncey said. “Continue on in this direction. I’ll let you know when it’s time to stop. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to pretend I have a fainting couch so I can lay upon it and plot revenge against Eduardo and his little trollop.”

“We’re so weird,” Phee said as the rowboat hit a wave, sending a mist of seawater into their faces.

Linus sighed. “That doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

It proved to be a fantastic day for yachting, even if “yachting” turned out to be a euphemism. The sun was high in the sky, the sea calm, and despite the cramped quarters, Arthur couldn’t think of a single place he’d rather be. Though he knew trouble was rising on the horizon like a dark summer storm, it felt distant, almost unimportant, at least for today. He was reminded of a Linus-ism, one of his little nuggets that Arthur cherished beyond measure: Why is it that I must always worry about tomorrows?

They sailed (read: paddled) for approximately an hour, Chauncey giving vague directions from his cabin, the island always off the starboard side.

David took to his role as captain as if he were made for it. Always moving from one end of the rowboat to the other, he would pause near each person, complimenting them on their work. When Chauncey complained that the ice had already melted in his cooler, David immediately stepped up and froze the entire cooler into a block of ice. He started to apologize, but Chauncey exclaimed in delight, and that was the end of that.

It was just before noon when Chauncey crawled out from his box and announced that they had arrived. Sal and Phee pulled the oars back in while Linus and Arthur saw to the sail. Once done, Chauncey made them all sit on the bench seats while he stood on top of the box. “Quiet, please! Quiet!”

“No one was talking,” Phee said.

“You might be wondering why we’ve stopped,” Chauncey said from his perch. “If you are, kudos! Because my adventure has two parts.”

“Twist,” Lucy breathed, rubbing his hands together.

“I recently found out I possess an undiscovered talent,” Chauncey said, pacing on top of the box. “One that will change the very shape of the world as we know it!”

Theodore chirped loudly in excitement.

“You might recall that I can make ink now,” Chauncey said. “My nocturnal emissions, as Lucy calls them.”

“We need to have a very serious discussion about calling them that,” Linus said sternly.

Chauncey wasn’t to be deterred. “In addition to my new power of inking, last week I discovered I can do something else.” He removed his sun hat carefully, clutching it against his chest as he stared off into the sea. “I… can talk to fish.”

Silence. Thick, stunned silence, the only sounds coming from the waves against the boat and the seabirds calling from above.

Chauncey grinned. “Did I leave you all speechless? Oh my goodness, I’ve never done that before. This is so exciting.”

“Chauncey,” Linus said faintly. “Forgive me, but for a moment, I thought you said you could—”

“Talk to fish!” Chauncey exclaimed. “I don’t know how, but when you and Arthur were gone, Zoe took us swimming. There I was, minding my own business and eating barnacles off rocks on the sea floor when a fish swam up to me, told me his name, and then told me that every fish in the entire ocean has a name.”

“Unholy crap, ” Lucy whispered, eyes ringed with red.

“I have to agree,” Arthur said. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

Chauncey shrugged. “I wanted it to be a surprise.” His wiggled his tentacles. “I also wanted to make sure I hadn’t gone insane.”

“That was very kind of you, Chauncey,” Linus said. “And I’ve never met a saner person in my life.”

Chauncey pouted. “Aw, darn. Can’t I be just a little insane?”

“You can talk to fish,” Sal said. “So, yeah. Sure. Why not.”

“I can tell you want a demonstration,” Chauncey said. “Allow me!” He turned toward the front of the boat, Theodore making room on his perch. Chauncey leaned over the side of the boat, sucked in a large breath, and then screamed at the water. “Frank! Hey, Frank ! You down there? Come on up, friend!”

“The fish’s name is Frank,” Linus said.

“Fine name,” Arthur said. “Means ‘free,’ or that you are from France.”

“Is that right?”

“It is.”

“Do you think the fish is from France, then?”

“Eighty percent of the ocean is unexplored,” Arthur reminded him. “Could be many French fish named Frank.”

“And now we get to meet one. Because he can talk to them.”

“ Frank! ” Chauncey bellowed at the water. “You there? Frank .”

“Maybe he’s in another part of the ocean,” Talia said, joining Chauncey to peer over the side of the boat. “It’s pretty big, you know.”

“I know,” Chauncey said, lifting his eyes to look at Talia. “But Frank’s school lives around here, and he wouldn’t have gone too far. Fraaaaaaannnnnk! ”

Which was how they found themselves all bent over the side of the boat, shouting “ Frank! ” at the water. Arthur had never yelled at the ocean before and found it to be more soothing than he expected it to be. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw David standing back from the edge of the boat, once more looking unsure. Before Arthur could speak up, Phee made room for him, waving him over. He approached cautiously, standing between Phee and Talia, peering into the water. They reminded him that, as captain, he needed to be louder than everyone else.

David must have taken this to heart, because he lifted his head, pulled his lips back over his fangs, sucked in a deep breath, and then let out the most fearsome snarl that Arthur had ever heard, and he’d once known a griffin named Jessica. The sound carried over the sea, and Arthur wouldn’t have been surprised to find out they’d heard it all the way in the village.

“How was that?” David asked, only to find everyone staring at him. He flinched. “I… I didn’t mean to—”

“That was so awesome !” Chauncey screeched, grabbing David by the shoulders and spinning him around. “How did you do that?”

“So loud,” Talia said with stars in her eyes. “Do you think you could do that when Linus is in the shower?”

“I bet we could line up a row of drinking glasses and he’d be able to break them all by yelling at them,” Phee said. “Or all the windows .” She tilted her head back to look up at Arthur. “Can we blow out the windows when we get home?”

“We cannot,” Arthur said. “As it turns out, windows are important.”

“Frank!” Chauncey bellowed in excitement. “I knew you’d come!”

They all hurried to the side of the boat, looking over, the rowboat leaning precariously. And there, swimming just underneath the surface, a fish. It was not the most beautiful fish Arthur had ever seen, far from it: it was flat and wide, slightly bigger than Sal was in his shifted form. A beady eye on either side of its head, its scales gray near its top, fading into white toward the bottom. Its mouth opened and closed as it swam.

“Everyone,” Chauncey said. “This is Frank. Frank, this is my family that I told you about.”

The fish poked its mouth out of the water, opening and closing. As far as Arthur could tell, no sound came out, but Chauncey was nodding along as if deep in conversation. “Right. Right. Yeah. Oh, really? Wow. You don’t say. Yeah, I can tell him. Hold on.” Chauncey looked over at them. “Frank says Arthur reminds him of a seahorse he once knew called Madam Esmerelda.”

“Chauncey,” Arthur said, “please extend my gratitude to Frank. As far as I can tell, I’ve never been told I look like a seahorse or like someone called Madam Esmerelda, but I’ve discovered it tickles my fancy more than expected.”

“Ooh,” Lucy said. “If you love Madam Esmerelda so much, why don’t you marry her?” He slapped his hands against his cheeks. “Oh no! Linus already asked you to marry him, so you can’t marry a seahorse! Drat! Of all the luck.”

“Drat, indeed,” Arthur said. “Is this what it feels like to have dreams dashed? More’s the pity.”

“She can have you,” Linus grumbled.

Theodore decided that was the perfect time to ask Chauncey the question everyone had been thinking about for the last three minutes.

“I don’t know how I can talk to them,” Chauncey said, his face inches from the water, Frank swimming just below the surface. “I think it was kind of like my ink. Just something I can do now.” One of his eyes lowered into the water while the other raised over the lip of the boat, turning to look at each of them. “Which brings me to the reason we’re here. Since I can talk to Frank, that means I can probably talk to other fish. So I’m sure you’ll agree that we can no longer eat seafood of any kind.”

“Oh, thank God,” Phee said. “Fish is gross.”

“ What? ” Lucy yelped. “No! I like crab! And shrimp! And lobster! And those little sardines from the can that I eat in front of Linus with my fingers because it makes him gag.”

“But why would you eat something that can talk to you?” Chauncey asked. “Isn’t that wrong? Frank says that people who eat seafood are going to Hell.”

“Great,” Linus said. “Now that I know fish are aware of the concept of Hell, I’m questioning everything.”

“What about other animals, then?” Talia asked. “Just because you can talk to fish doesn’t mean someone else can’t talk to cows or pigs. Doesn’t that make it bad too?”

Phee glared at them. “If anyone tries to take bacon from me, I’m going to turn them into a tree. And not a good tree. A bad one, like a Bradford pear tree.”

They stared at her.

She threw up her hands. “Have I taught you nothing ? The Bradford pear tree has thorns and the flowers smell like tuna. No one has ever said, oh gee, let me get a good, long sniff of fish flowers.”

“We could consider vegetarianism,” Arthur mused. “Take meat out of our diet and—”

“I will literally blow up the entire planet if you do that,” Lucy growled. “You think meat is bad? Try breathing when you’re hurtling through space .”

“Well, it is Chauncey’s day,” Linus said. “Let’s see what he thinks. Chauncey, would you like to explain a little more?”

Chauncey jerked back into the boat, face dripping with water. His eyes darted side to side. “Um. I think we’ve talked about this enough. We should just go home and—”

“Chauncey,” Sal said. “Did you eat Frank?”

“What! Of course not! That goes against everything I stand for! I would never —”

“We can see him in your stomach,” Phee said.

Sure enough, through Chauncey’s translucent green skin, Frank swam in slow circles, little bubbles trailing from his nose. “Oh, that?” Chauncey said. “I can explain. You see, Frank said he’s very interested in stomach acid, and wanted to see it for himself.”

“Wow,” David whispered. “This place is crazy .”

Linus sighed. “You want to handle this, or should I?”

“Do go right ahead,” Arthur said. “You have such a delightfully succinct way of putting things.”

Linus clapped his hands loudly to get everyone’s attention. “Children. Children! New house rule. No eating anything that has been given a name.”

Phee blinked prettily up at them. “I forgot to tell you. I can speak to cauliflower, and I’ve named them all Peggy. Oh no, I guess that means I can’t eat cauliflower anymore.”

“Nice try,” Linus said. “And don’t think we don’t see it when you ask Lucy to send your cauliflower to some alternate dimension. Last time, he conjured a black hole.”

“Yeah, that sucked,” Sal said, and then high-fived Talia without looking at her.

It was about this time that Chauncey yarked over the side of the boat, Frank splashing back into the water. They all waved as Frank flashed them his tail fin before disappearing into the sea.

David tilted his head back to look at Arthur. “You weren’t kidding when you said we could be monsters if we wanted to.”

“What?” Lucy asked with a frown. “What do you mean we can be monsters? Arthur said that I can’t…” He trailed off, glancing between David and Arthur with narrowed eyes. “Oh. So that’s how it’s gonna be.” He turned away from them, kicking at the cooler and missing before sitting in Chauncey’s box and pulling the sleeping bag up and over his head. All Arthur could see in the shadows were Lucy’s red-ringed eyes glaring at him.

“What was that about?” Linus asked.

“That’s on me,” Arthur said quietly. “I don’t think I’ve gone about this as well as I could have.”

“You’re learning,” Linus said, patting his arm. “Even you can’t be expected to know everything.”

He was right, of course, but that didn’t assuage Arthur’s guilt. How could he tell one child he could be a thing, but tell another that he couldn’t do the same? Granted, David’s idea of being a monster wasn’t the same as Lucy’s, but was it fair to hold one person to a standard and another to something else entirely?

“Guys!” Sal called. “I think we have a problem.” When they looked at him, he pointed up at the closed sail. It wasn’t moving, hanging limply.

Theodore flew to the pole and gripped it, talons digging into the wood. He plucked at the sail, only to have it flutter back into place. He chirped a question.

“No wind,” Talia said. She went to the side of the boat, looking over. “How are we going to get back to the island?” She slid down the side, slumping, pulling her knees up to her chest. “Are we gonna be boat people now? I can’t grow anything here!”

Linus said, “We could always—” He stopped when Arthur touched his wrist, shaking his head. “What?”

“Children,” Arthur said. “You have a new assignment. Without our help, I want you to come up with a way to get back to the island.” He glanced at Lucy, whose red eyes narrowed. “The person who comes up with the best idea will get a reward.”

A little manipulative? Sure. But even then, it didn’t work. Lucy stayed in the box, eyes burning.

“We could paddle,” Phee said. “Might take forever, but it would work.”

Theodore spread his wings, offering to ferry each person back to the island by carrying them, but then decided that would make him like Merle, and he settled back down, cleaning his scales with a forked tongue.

As the other children gave their ideas (“I have wings,” Phee pointed out, “so I could just leave you all here”), Linus bumped Arthur’s shoulder and nodded toward David, who held his captain’s hat in front of him, fidgeting nervously.

“David,” Arthur called over the noise. “Did you have an idea?”

David cringed, dropping the hat, when everyone turned to look at him. He bent over, picked it up, and said, “Um. I could… turn the water into blocks of ice and we could all walk back?”

“That’s a good idea,” Linus said. “What do you all think?”

Sal and Phee looked at each other and nodded, and then Sal said, “Kids-only meeting. No adults allowed.”

“And where are we supposed to go?” Linus asked. “We’re in the middle of the ocean.”

“Cover your ears and say la la la really loud,” Talia suggested. “It’s what I do when you tell me to do anything.”

“We know,” Arthur assured her. “Seeing as how you do it right in front of us. Proceed with your meeting. Linus and I will la la la with the best of them.”

Sal glanced at the angry boy in the box. “Lucy, that means you too. Come on, man. We need you.”

Grumbling under his breath, Lucy emerged from the box, stomping over to the others. He stopped next to Phee, arms still folded across his chest.

As the children held their congress, heads close together (with Lucy becoming more involved as it went on), Linus and Arthur covered their ears and shouted, “ LA LA LA .”

It didn’t take long. From what Arthur could tell, everyone had input, including David. Sal made sure of it, giving him a chance to speak before letting the others have their say. Lucy seemed to have forgotten his momentary need to be upset in a box, but Arthur knew it was only a matter of time before Lucy brought it up again, and rightly so. He needed to think hard about what he’d say to Lucy when the time came.

The children reached an agreement, Sal making them all put their hands in the middle. David was last, his white paw on top. That is, until Lucy pulled his hand out from near the bottom and slapped his on top of David’s. They stared at each other, Lucy looking smug.

Arthur was about to warn Lucy to play fair, but then David did something unexpected. He lifted his other hand, extended a single claw, and then pressed it gently against Lucy’s nose, dimpling his skin. “Boop.”

Lucy gaped at him as Linus and Arthur did their best to smother their laughter.

“On three,” Sal said. “One. Two. Three!”

“We’re not gonna die!” the children all shouted, raising their hands into the sky.

“We figured it out,” Sal said as the other children nodded around him. “A way to get us all back that won’t be boring.”

“I feel like that shouldn’t have been part of whatever you considered,” Linus said.

“Well, it was,” Phee said. “Which is why we’ve gone with Lucy’s idea.”

Arthur blinked. “I beg your pardon? David, did you not make the case for your proposal?”

David smiled suddenly, his gaze flicking over Arthur’s shoulder. It was an odd smile, a little crooked, with a hint of fangs behind it. “I did. And then Lucy said something that sounded like more fun.”

“Oh? And what would that be?”

The sky darkened above them, as if the clouds had hidden the sun away. Before Arthur could look up, the boat began to move slightly away from the island as if getting pulled, the motion causing Linus to grab Arthur to keep from falling. “What the…” Linus said, turning to look up at the sun, shielding his eyes. “I do hope that’s not a… rain… cloud. Lucy.”

“Yes, Linus?” Said in picture-perfect innocence.

“Question, if I may: Do you know anything about the giant tidal wave heading straight for us?”

Arthur said, “The giant what ?” He whirled around, and there, towering high in the sky, a massive wave of seawater, at least four stories tall, the top capped with white like the snowy peak of a mountain. It rushed toward them, a roar building to bone-shaking levels, the boat picking up speed from the pull of the wave.

“Hang on, everybody!” Lucy screamed, sounding far too happy at their impending deaths.

Linus moved before Arthur did, grabbing Talia and Lucy in his arms and plunking down in the middle of the rowboat, the front of which was already rising at a low angle as the wave got closer and closer. Sal pulled Theodore from his shoulder, tucking him under his arm as Phee and David dove for the box. Sitting down in front of Linus, Sal held Theodore in his lap, both of them looking up at the wave with bright eyes.

“Chauncey!” Arthur shouted, reaching for him as the boat tilted back and back and back, the cooler flipping end over end into the sea.

“I got this!” Chauncey cried. As Arthur looked on in amazement, Chauncey sucked in a deep breath, his chest (or, rather, what might be his chest) expanding until he looked like he had swallowed a beach ball. Then he deflated with a forceful exhalation, his entire body (sans eyes) becoming thin as a piece of paper. One tentacle shot out to the front of the rowboat, wrapping around the hull. His other tentacle reached for the rear, latching on tightly. A strong gust of wind hit him square in the chest, and Chauncey giggled as he was lifted up from the rowboat, tentacles stretching, suction cups keeping him from floating away. He rose in the air above them, and it was then that Arthur saw what he was doing: Chauncey had turned himself into a parachute of sorts that cast a green tinge down upon them.

Just when Arthur thought they would tip over, they reached the crest of the wave, water spraying in their faces, blinding them, Lucy shrieking in joy, his hands above his head as Linus tried to keep him from falling overboard. The hurricane around them suddenly stopped as if a switch had flipped, and Arthur opened his eyes and leaned over the side of the rowboat.

They were flying.

They were flying .

The sea was at least fifty feet below them, the rowboat slicing through the air as Chauncey rode the tailwind toward the island. He was still laughing, sounding almost hysterical as the tidal wave collapsed beneath them with a tremendous splash. “Holy freaking crap !” he called down. “I didn’t think that would work!”

David and Phee poked their heads out of the box. “Are we still alive?” David asked.

“Again!” Lucy cried, bouncing on Linus’s lap. “Again!”

“Never again,” Linus said, his face doing a remarkable impression of Chauncey’s natural color. “I don’t think I could survive another—”

They all screamed when the rowboat suddenly dropped ten feet, Arthur’s stomach rising to his throat.

“Uh-oh,” Chauncey said, stalks shriveling until his eyes rested on top of his head. “The wind is slowing down again. I’m sorry, we’re going to crash and probably die horribly. I love you guys.”

Theodore chirped and clicked excitedly, head bobbing up and down.

Arthur suddenly grinned. “You’re right, Theodore. He is porous!”

“Rude!” Chauncey cried as they dropped another five feet. “I’m trying my best!”

Theodore leapt from his perch on Sal, landing on the floor of the rowboat. He turned his head left, then right before wiggling his body as he crouched low, tail flicking behind him. Without hesitation, he shot his head up toward Chauncey, scales flashing with light as he opened his maw, rows of fangs on display as his tongue pulled back. Green fire bloomed from the wyvern, a blinding burst of flame that slammed into Chauncey, inflating him once more.

“Ooh,” Chauncey said with a wet giggle. “That tickles .”

“Well done, you,” Arthur said, patting Theodore between the wings on his back as the wyvern continued to breathe fire into his brother.

Linus decided it was time to vomit over the side of the rowboat, Talia rubbing his back, thanking him for feeding Frank and the rest of the fishes. When he sat back down, his face was white and slick with sweat, or possibly seawater. Or both. In a weak voice, he said, “We can’t tell the inspector we turned Chauncey into a hot-air balloon and had him fly us home. I shudder to think how that would look in a report.”

“But you said we could be whatever we wanted,” Phee reminded him. “Why would you take this away from Chauncey?”

Linus sighed. “I did say that, didn’t I? New house rule. Chauncey can be a hot-air balloon if he wishes, but only in present company, not excluding Zoe.”

“Or Helen,” David said.

“Or Helen,” Linus agreed.

“Or J-Bone,” Lucy said. “Because if you think I’m not going to tell him about this the next time I go to the record store, you’re out of your damn mind.”

Linus closed his eyes and smiled weakly. “Yes. That’s something I tell myself constantly.”

They landed on the beach, the rowboat hitting the sand with a rattle that caused them all to stumble. Theodore pulled back his fire, and Chauncey withered as he floated toward the beach, dropping the last couple of feet into the sand.

Linus crawled over the side of the rowboat, lying on his back in the sand, pulling piles of sand over to him and hugging them. “Oh, ground. My sweet, sweet ground. I’ll never take you for granted again.”

“Children,” Arthur said as they all picked themselves up. “What did we learn from today’s adventure?”

“Grapes aren’t very filling,” Chauncey said. “Because I’m hungry.”

“Too right,” Arthur said, sitting on the bench seat as his fiancé continued to extoll the virtues of land. “Next time, we’ll pack sandwiches. Phee?”

“I learned that Lucy can make tidal waves,” Phee said. “I didn’t think he could. I told him as much, so. You know. My bad.”

Arthur arched an eyebrow.

“Oh, please,” Phee said. “Like we were actually about to die.”

“Hmm. I’ll allow it. Talia, you’re up.”

She stroked her beard thoughtfully. “I learned that even though fish have thoughts, I’ll still eat them because I like how they taste in my mouth.”

“Fascinating. I appreciate your candor. Theodore?”

Theodore lay on his back on the bottom of the rowboat, feet kicking in the air. Sal grabbed him by the ankles, lifting him up, letting the wyvern chirp in Arthur’s face.

“Wonderful,” Arthur said. “Your ingenuity in using your fire undoubtedly saved us all from plummeting toward certain death. I am so very impressed by your thought process. Sal, your turn.”

“We figured it out on our own,” Sal said with a twinkle in his eye, Theodore on his shoulder, as per usual. “We were in trouble, and we found a way to solve the problem.”

“With a tidal wave, ” Linus groused, his legs and hips now completely covered in sand. Then, “Not bad, per se, just one I wouldn’t have opted for as I don’t like seeing my life flash before my eyes.”

“You thought for yourselves,” Arthur said. “And not only that, you put a plan into action and as Sal said, saw it through to the end. You are to be commended, even if I question the usefulness of a tidal wave over, say, David’s idea for blocks of ice. David, what did you learn?”

“That you’re all so weird,” David said, panting, eyes wide. “And I like it.”

“Thank you,” Arthur said. “You’re also weird, and we like you, so it appears we’re on the same page. Lucy? I’m curious to find out what you learned.”

Lucy scowled at him. “I bet you are. Going to tell me something else I can’t do?”

Fair, though it stung. “It seems that you and I need to have a chat.”

“Damn right we do,” he grumbled. “And I learned another way to make Linus throw up. By my count, that’s twelve different ways now that I can—”

“Thirteen,” Talia said. “Remember when Sal got a spot, and you wanted to be like him so you covered your entire face in leaking pimples?”

Linus groaned on the beach.

He knew. The moment he saw Zoe and Helen waiting for them on the porch, he knew. It wasn’t the expression on Zoe’s face—the worried look that she covered up as soon as she saw them. It wasn’t anything Helen did, sitting next to her, her own face carefully blank. No, it wasn’t either of those things, though they did add to the feeling of unease that crashed over him, not unlike an errant tidal wave.

It was the white manila folder sitting between them on the step. He’d seen such folders before, when Linus had received his classified instructions from DICOMY. Rowder hadn’t wasted any time.

“How’d it go?” Zoe asked with a small smile. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about a giant wave that almost crashed into the island, would you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Lucy muttered, stomping up the stairs and slamming the door shut behind him.

“Uh-oh,” Helen said.

“He all right?” Zoe asked.

David wilted, kicking the ground with his hairy feet. “He’s mad at me because—I didn’t mean to—I was just trying to—”

“Hey, man,” Sal said. “You don’t need to do that. It’s nothing you did. Trust me when I say he’ll get over it.”

David scowled. “You don’t know that.”

“But I do,” Arthur said. “David, if we felt you had done something wrong, we would’ve talked to you about it. I know it’s easier said than done, but let us worry about Lucy.” He glanced at the others. “Why don’t you all go inside and change? We’ll have an early supper tonight.”

“It better not be Frank,” Talia muttered, drawing a finger across her throat. She followed the others up the stairs and into the house.

Once Arthur was sure they weren’t listening in, he turned back to Zoe and said, “To answer your question, Lucy is in a bit of a snit at the moment, but to be fair, I don’t think he can be blamed for it. That rests upon me. I’ll see to it shortly.” He glanced pointedly down at the folder, only then noticing there were two rather than one. “I assume that’s what we’ve been waiting for?”

“It is,” Helen said. “I was also sent a notice.”

Linus groaned. “What on earth is DICOMY planning now?”

Helen picked up one of the folders, showing the front to Arthur and Linus. It was addressed to the MAYOR OF MARSYAS . In the top left corner, the official DICOMY stamp: a circle with two hands joined in the middle, one young, one older. Helen pulled out a single sheet of paper and began to read. “Dear Mayor Webb, this letter serves you with notice that an official Department in Charge of Magical Youth investigation will take place beginning the third week of June at Marsyas Island Orphanage. As a duly elected civil servant of the nearest city and/or town, we ask that you disallow any interruption to said investigation. Any and all attempts to keep the DICOMY inspector from completing their assignment will be met with the full force of the law, up to and including fines and incarceration. Have a pleasant day! With sincerity, Jeanine Rowder, Interim Head of the Department in Charge of Magical Youth and the Department in Charge of Magical Adults.” She put the letter back in the folder.

“It sounds as if they’re expecting trouble,” Linus said.

“We figured they would,” Helen said. “More and more magical people are finding sanctuary in the village, even if it’s only temporary. It was only a matter of time before that got back to the government.”

“And the other folder?” Arthur asked.

Zoe shrugged. “Even shorter, if you can believe that. I figured you wouldn’t mind if I opened it. Says what you expect. Inspector arriving next week. Wednesday.” She made a face. “And that any attempts to deceive the inspector will result in the immediate removal of the children.”

“What recourse do we have?” Linus asked, sounding rather helpless. “Are we just supposed to let whoever they send tromp through our home? And can we really trust everyone in the village not to make a mess of things?”

Helen laughed. “I think you’ll find help in the unlikeliest places.” She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, eyes sparkling. “A gaggle of reporters are in the village, all clamoring to get to the island. Merle didn’t make it easier.”

Arthur huffed out a laugh. “Upped the prices again, did he? How much is he attempting to charge?”

Helen shook her head. “Not that, Arthur. He told them that he wouldn’t take them across. Said—and I quote—‘Why the hell would little ones need to talk to reporters? You damned vultures. You’ll never step foot on my ferry!’”

“He did not, ” Linus said, sounding just as shocked as Arthur felt.

“He did,” Helen said gleefully. “Didn’t know the old coot had it in him. Should have seen the looks on the reporters’ faces. You’d have thought they’d never been told no before.”

“We’re not alone,” Arthur said, voice strong, sure. “Let them send their inspector. They will find this is not a dark and dangerous place, but a home. And those reporters may yet prove useful, should we require their services. Many things to consider, but for now, I’m feeling a bit peckish. Shall we?”